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The first time Prentiss called the number she had reluctantly saved in her phone was not long after the Billy Flynn case. She tried to go on a date. Nice enough guy, a friend of a friend that she did gym classes with. They got along, talked about their families, about travel and, of course, work.
There was just the slightest twitch just above his left eye when she told him what she did for a living.
She couldn’t get the picture of Colleen Everson out of her head. Rape cases always hit close to the bone, but this one…Morgan’s broken voice kept bouncing around her skull, and she should have known better, perhaps, than to try and date so soon after a case like that one.
“Emily Prentiss. It is my lucky day,” came Mick Rawson’s whiskey smooth accent down the line.
She nearly dropped her scotch glass.
“It’d never work, you know,” she blurted out, and immediately winced, because she sounded a lot drunker than she initially thought she was.
Egotistical, she’d told JJ. Arrogant, oversexed-
“It’ll never work and maybe we’d try to make it work-” her voice caught. Cracked, just enough to be noticeable. “But we would-eventually-we’d just end up…drifting. Probably hate each other.” And now she was definitely crying. She slid onto the floor of her kitchen and pressed the cool glass against her temple.
There was a beat.
“Alright. Hang on,” Mick ordered. The speaker was muffled for a moment, and then he was back. “Mostly women aren’t crying when I get a booty call, Prentiss,” he drawled.
“That is not what this is,” Emily snapped. She sniffled. “It’s not.”
There was another pause.
“Bad case?” he asked, softly, not at all like his usual smirking, wiseass self.
She flinched. Heaved a long, shaky exhale. “Yeah. Bad,” she whispered. Her voice broke.
“I understand.”
Of course he did. There may have been an unspoken rule about dating inside law enforcement circles, but at least they got it.
“Are you hurt?”
“No. No, God, I’m not…I just can’t…you know…” Except she didn’t really know. The end of the sentence kept sliding away from her. She looked at a stain on her kitchen floor.
“You know, if you want me to stop flirting at you, just tell me, I will. But I’m not askin’ you to marry me, Emily. I think we’d have fun, you and I. I’m never going to hold it against you if you need to skip out on dinner, or if you don’t call for a week coz you’re on a job. I think I might even be good for you.”
She giggled, a little watery. “Wow, your ego,” she muttered, and he laughed. It was a good laugh. The kind of throaty, unabashed laugh that made her want to hear it again.
“I’m a little drunk. I really shouldn’t have called,” she admitted slowly.
Mick snorted. “Now this is sounding more like a booty call.”
“Listen, that is not what this is!”
“What is it then?” he asked, low enough that she shivered.
“I don’t know,” Emily whispered.
Somebody on Mick’s end of the conversation spoke. “Righto, two minutes,” he said quickly. “Sorry, love. I am in the middle of something.”
“God, no, I am so sorry, I shouldn’t have-”
“Can I call you later?” he interrupted. Emily blinked a couple of times as tears escaped the corners of her eyes and bit her lip. “Yeah. Yeah, okay. Bye.”
“Talk later.” Mick hit the end button and looked up at the sound of Gina clearing her throat pointedly.
She raised an eyebrow and smirked. “Was that Agent Prentiss?”
“Not a bloody word out of you,” he said and followed her into the midst of their current case. *********************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************** “So. I did something,” Emily opened with, not making eye contact with Penelope or JJ.
The girls both paused in the middle of their breakfast and looked at her in unison.
“Oh my God. You called him,” JJ said immediately.
Henry whined for attention and she automatically handed him a piece of bacon from her plate. Penelope sliced her French toast and put it down on his highchair tray without even looking.
“Called who, called who? How do I not immediately know what this is about?” she demanded excitedly.
“Mick Rawson,” crowed JJ.
Penelope grinned. “Oooh. Sexy British sniper with the tension and the flirting and the what are you wearing-”
“I hate you both so much right now,” Emily said, taking a long sip of her coffee.
“So, what happened?” JJ was smiling, but there was, as ever, that gentle non-judgemental openness in her blue eyes that made Emily feel so safe.
She groaned and Penelope laughed.
“I called him out of the blue the other night. I was a little drunk.”
“Was it a sexy phone call?” asked Penelope.
“No! No, we just talked.”
The techie scrunched up her nose. “Was it sexy talking?”
“No!”
“Well, honestly, what good is that to me? Come on, Em, I’m living vicariously through you here. I am boundlessly happy with my darling love, but I do, occasionally, miss the days of hot sweaty meaningless sex and zero strings attached.”
JJ hummed. “I don’t know, PG, maybe Emily wants more than sweaty sex.”
“Uh, no,” said Emily sternly. “And if I was looking for more, is it really going to be from a guy like Rawson? I mean, come on. He is so cocky-”
“He’s good at his job,” JJ supplied, sipping her coffee. Penelope made a fair enough face in agreement.
“He’s confident enough not to be intimidated by a woman with a gun, she continued, ignoring Emily’s glare.
“Who literally kicks ass for a living,” added Penelope.
“He’s a jerk!” Emily scoffed.
“Who are you really trying to convince here?” JJ wondered.
When Emily spluttered, she leaned onto the table with her chin in her hands.
“If he’s really all these things, Em, what did you guys talk about?”
She hesitated, moving food around her plate listlessly. “Cardiff. Ah, Indian food. Beer. Very strong opinions about American beer.”
Penelope and JJ exchanged a knowing look, which Emily glanced up just in time to catch and realised that she’d begun to smile unconsciously. It was a small thing, but to a profiler and a Penelope Garcia, it was more telling than anything else she could have done.
“Okay, shut up!”
“I didn’t say anything!” JJ cried, but she was laughing.
“I fear the lady doth protest too much,” Penelope decreed, taking a satisfied bite out of her breakfast.
******************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************************** The knock on the door was brisk, confident. No hesitation.
Emily turned down the element on her stove and swished the wine in her glass. She caught herself fixing her hair as she walked towards the door and scowled at herself. She checked the peephole before she opened the door.
Mick Rawson was standing on her doorstep, head tilted slightly down, listening. His hands were behind his back. When she opened the door, he grinned, making a show of checking her out, slow and sure. His dark gaze seemed to swallow her, and despite herself, Emily felt her breath catch. He’d shaved, the line of his jaw clean, and there was a crisp, masculine scent drifting across the threshold, but his dark hair was as mussed as ever. The fact that he’d sprung for a dark navy button down under a black leather jacket, well-loved and fitted to his shoulders like it was made for him, made her feel slightly better about the black dress she had eventually settled on. Her feet were bare, and something about that made him grin a little wider.
“Well hello beautiful.”
“Oh please,” she waved him off, dismissively, but before she could enact some other scathing comment, he lifted a single long-stemmed rose into her line of sight.
“You are kidding me,” Emily breathed out, taking it hesitantly.
“Shut up and let me woo you, woman,” Mick drawled, throwing her a wink that absolutely made her want to roll her eyes, so she did. It made the heat rising to her cheeks a little less embarrassing.
“Is that what you’re doing? I’m sure it’s a very successful playbook.”
She’d stepped back to allow him in, and he paused in the hallway, close.
“Darlin’ I haven’t even started on my playbook yet,” he told her and kissed her cheek.
It was very charming. He smelt good. Emily shut the door and hit the deadbolt, turning in time to watch him shrug out of his jacket. The shirt was tucked down into dark jeans and a thin black belt, giving off the best of every line of his broad shoulders down to slim hips. She very pointedly did not check out how good his ass looked in those jeans. But damn. The man was a tall, tall glass of water.
Emily swallowed and followed him into the apartment.
“Nice place,” he commented, dropping the jacket onto one of the stools at the breakfast bar. He sniffed.
“What’s cooking? Smells bloody amazing.”
“Spaghetti. One of the few things I can cook without running the risk of burning the place down,” Emily joked.
“We certainly wouldn’t want that. Letting dinner burn is a third date highlight, at the very least.”
“Oh, third date, huh? Listen to Mr Confident over here,” Emily retorted, but she was amused.
He dropped onto one of the stools. “You like my confidence. Can I do anything to help? You seem like you have this under control, but that kitchen burning comment does have me questioning appearances.”
She found a tall enough glass to stick the rose in and placed it on the breakfast bar, catching herself smiling at him when he followed the movement with his dark, warm eyes. He made it easy to smile. His smile turned crooked. Helplessly, Emily watched his tongue peek out to moisten his bottom lip, and white teeth flash.
“If you keep looking at me like that, Agent, I make no promises about getting through dinner,” Mick said, roughly.
Her breath caught. It had been a long time since she’d felt this immediate burn of palpable attraction, and felt it returned back to her. It hummed low in her belly, pleasant, warm and liquid, sizzling through her body. She swallowed.
“Well, we wouldn’t want that,” she breathed.
Mick’s gaze darkened to black. He stood up from the bar and rounded the edge of the bench. Emily didn’t move as he stalked across the small kitchen. She waited, her chin raised defiantly.
“Emily. Turn the stove off,” he rumbled.
The warmth in her belly began to scorch through her veins. He’d stopped, just out of reach, waiting for her to move, eyes burning right through her clothes. She could feel arousal pulling at her skin, tightening, and squeezing. She grinned, all teeth.
“God, you are so full of yourself. Maybe I’m hungry,” she teased.
Mick’s grin was sharklike. He closed the space between them, taking her gently by the waist and tugging her close. She went easily, palms flat to the hard muscles of his chest, tipping her chin up very slightly to stay eye-to-eye with him. Emily was tall, it was nice to look up to a man and feel equal. Respected, both as a person and a woman.
“I am planning on fucking you utterly senseless,” he told her matter-of-factly, and the complete confidence he had as he said it had an answering response in Emily’s gut, raising the temperature with her heartrate. “But first, I need to hear you say yes. And no, if you need.”
She circled her arms around his neck.
“Oh, hell yes.”
Mick smirked. “I’ll take it.”
She figured the man would be a good kisser. He had that look about him. As he took control of her mouth, she updated that subconsciously to damn good kisser. Mick pressed her back into the bench, arms tight around her, holding her close. His body was warm and hard. He released her long enough to gasp for air, pressing hot kisses down her neck. Her hands were tangled in his hair, messing it up even more, as he stepped back and dragged her with him, until his lower back struck the bench on the other side. They twisted, and this time when he kissed her it was with the hot swipe of his tongue. Emily gasped into his mouth, tugging him impossibly closer. Her head spun as he bent just enough at the knees, hands scorching trails over her hips and waist, settling at her thighs and hoisted her easily to perch on the edge of the bench.
“Jesus Christ, Emily,” he groaned, pulling back. He gazed up at her, and grinned. She must have been a sight. She was panting, her mouth felt deliciously bruised and when he cupped her face in his rough palms, a white-hot shot of want went right through to her core.
“I have a perfectly good bed you know,” she told him. Her fingers were at the open collar of his shirt, then his buttons, slowly flicking them open. He glanced down to follow her progress for a moment, then gave her a burning look under his lashes.
“Lead the way then, love.”
He paused at the bottom of the stairs to kick his boots off, even peeling his socks off, which made Emily laugh. He jogged up after her, muttering something at her and whatever it was his tone was so miffed and sulky, she laughed again, half breathless by the time she pushed open the door to her bedroom. He followed her in, kicking it shut behind him as he caught her hand and reeled her close, one hand burying in her hair, brushing her fringe away and planting an unrelenting kiss on her mouth. He was fit, toned as she expected, and scarred. He let her press her fingertips to the round sinkholes from bullets and long, ragged lines she recognised as shrapnel wounds. There on his shoulder was the SAS winged dagger tattooed in faded black ink, which certainly answered that question. He chuckled at the victorious sound she made when she saw it and tugged impatiently at the bottom of her dress. By the time he untangled himself from his trousers, Emily had let herself tumble onto the bed, discarding her bra as she went. Moments later, he was on her with a smooth ease that spoke of exactly how strong he was. He dragged knuckles over the front of her panties, and moaned out load at the wet heat he found there. Emily arched closer, biting down on her lip to hold back the truly pathetic noise that wanted to escape her throat.
“Oh, no, no, no, I want to hear you, Emily. Please,” he murmured, kissing each corner of her mouth until she relented with an audible gasp.
Mick knelt between her knees, hard cock bobbing against his stomach and laid his hands on her hips.
“Okay?” he asked, breathless.
“Yes,” Emily gasped, lifting her hips to assist.
He kissed each new inch of skin revealed as he dragged the black lace away from her body. As he freed the panties from her ankles, he held them up hanging off one finger.
“I appreciate these, by the way,” he commented, voice wrecked. He kissed the inside of her knee and dragged the same kiss to the inside her thigh.
Emily’s muscles twitched and she tossed her head back, hands scrambling on her duvet cover.
“What are you talking about, Mick?!” she demanded.
He propped himself against her leg and grinned wolfishly. “Pretty underwear. Promise I did notice. Things like this are expensive. I appreciate it.”
It was so unexpected, Emily had to cover her face with one hand, busting out laughing. It wasn’t choreographed sexy laughter, either, it was a belly laugh. Vaguely, she tried to remember the last time anyone had made her laugh in bed. Mick wasn’t laughing. He was focused on the apex of her thighs, hungry and wasting no time. Emily kept her nails short for work, so she didn’t break the skin as she clawed at his lithe shoulders for purchase. She could feel her own wetness soaking down her thighs, smeared by his tongue as he circled her clit and held her hips down, her legs cocked over his shoulders. Her usual qualms about asking for what she wanted in bed disappeared, and Mick hummed excitedly when she begged for his fingers, for more than what he was giving her. He sat back to watch her clutch at her breasts, his own chest heaving. Orange light from her bedside gleamed on his mouth and chin, and a moment later she was seeing stars, Mick’s fingers crooked just right. There was the semi-awkward shuffle across the room for a condom after she’d come made her giggle breathlessly. He glared at her mockingly, digging in his pants for the shiny square, but something about the way she looked back at him made his expression change.
He swore, catching her face in his palms again for a deep kiss. His hands cupped her tits, and oh he’d been paying attention to how she touched herself. He rolled her taunt nipples in his fingers, tight enough to make her catch her breath, fingers digging into his sides. Emily wrapped a hand loosely around his cock, dragged her fingers up and down his shaft, as Mick pressed his forehead to hers.
“Iesu Grist, Emily, darlin’ love, gosod fi allan o'm trallod,” he spoke shakily.
“I speak six languages, Mick, I have no idea what you just said,” she breathed, kissing his mouth and jaw and neck.
He chuckled, pushing her down into the mattress. “It means, I can’t remember the last time I spoke my mother tongue without meanin’ to, and you might just be the bloody death of me.”
She watched as he rolled the condom on, and when he was done, straddled his hips.
“Are you complaining?” she wondered.
Whatever he’d been going to stay died on his lips as she wrapped her fingers around him and pumped slowly.
“Fuck,” he said emphatically, throwing his head back. Sweat gleamed at the base of his throat, and tasted clean and vaguely spicy when Emily dropped her mouth to bite there. His cock pressed into her belly. He wrapped one hand around the back of her neck, holding her to his throat, his other hand grasping her thigh. They locked eyes as Emily straightened and he didn’t look away as she lowered herself slowly onto his cock. He grunted when she had him to the hilt inside her. Her mouth was hanging open. He felt good, buried inside her. Full and electrified, he took her hand and guided her fingers to her clit.
“Fuck me,” he barked, hands at her waist. He looked up at her, awed, and planted his feet flat against the mattress. She leaned back slightly against his legs, changing the angle impossibly deeper as she let herself touch herself, circling her clit as he watched on.
“Is-is that an order?” she stuttered, toes curling despite herself.
“Darlin I would never,” he whispered, choked and swore again. “Never dream to order you around, even when you look so fucking delightful all cross and trying not to show it…fuck.”
“Mick, God, I-” Emily bowed her head to his chest, gasping. “I’m-I- Mick.” Her legs trembled. He encircled her with his arms and fucked up into her. A shudder raced through her, her skin felt on fire, and electric and the sound that dragged out of her bordered on a sob.
“Emily, please, please, fuck, please darlin’”
“I’m close,” she moaned to the hot skin of his throat. Her hips hadn’t stopped riding as she pressed close to him, breasts pushed against his chest.
“Can I-can I-”
“Yes”
Without letting up, Mick rolled them over, slammed their mouths together and kissed a moan out of her lungs as he began to fuck her down into the bed. Emily rose up to meet him each time, grabbing biting kisses between his guttural, unconscious sounds of pleasure. He held himself up with one hand, the other grasping her chin, landing kiss after kiss against her mouth. At some point, she realised, she’d started begging him not to stop, and then she lost all vision entirely for a moment, arched into him as every muscle of her body was absorbed by the wave of her orgasm. Mick fucked her through it and out the other side, kissing her until her eyes cleared enough for him to sit up, arranging himself between her legs.
He bowed to her body like a penitent man, but there was nothing holy about the way he fucked her, about the moans it tore out of her as he gripped the bedhead above her head, and waves of pleasure washed over her again and again until she was sure she was going to pass out entirely. The moment he came inside her, his eyes were on her, never letting up. His whole body went taunt as a bowstring, until he collapsed like a puppet with the strings cut. He managed to fall to the side of her and immediately dragged her into the circle of his arms. They caught their breath, pressed together from their shoulders to their ankles.
“Holy shit,” Emily said, without meaning to speak out loud. Mick was still breathing raggedly.
“Told you,” he muttered.
“Oh, beginner’s luck,” she bit him on the shoulder.
“Ouch! On both accounts!”
He rolled over to discard the condom. Emily went to pee. She was washing her hands when he called out.
“You didn’t happen to turn the stove off when I told you to, did you?”
“Shit!”